the game we play
by ElectricClover
Summary: OliverMarcus —- flint, falls, and first i-love-you's


_A/N: Some un-beta'd Flintwood fluff for the Houses Competition. This is some sort of AU where Voldemort doesn't exist and they can all play Quidditch in peace._

 _House: Ravenclaw_

 _Year: Stand in for Year 7_

 _Category: Standard_

 _Prompt: Hufflepuff vs Slytherin Quidditch match_

 _Words: 1180_

* * *

Oliver stares down at his breakfast of bacon and eggs, pushing the food around his plate with his fork. It all looks unappetizing, and he's worried that if he eats it he'll be sick. He's been feeling nauseous ever since he woke up that morning, can't quite shake the thought that something bad is going to happen today. It's irrational, he knows it, but he can quite shake the annoying niggle off. Hoping to settle his nerves, he glances across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table, scanning the rows of green-clad students for -

"Oi, Wood!" Fred waves his hands in front of Oliver, blocking his vision. "You listening, mate? Lee just told me that Smith is in the Hospital Wing. He came down with the flu last night."

"I dunno if Hufflepuff will be able to win the game without him," George chimes in, shifting in closer to his twin so that Oliver can see even less of the Slytherins. He tries his best to not look annoyed and nods along in agreement. "If Slytherin beat them we'll have no chance at the Cup."

Angelina and Alicia join in then, asking him inane questions about what he thinks the Puff's formation will be, and whether the Slytherin Keeper's new broomstick will be enough to make up for his shoddy performance all season. Groaning internally, Oliver tears his eyes away from the other end of the Great Hall and resigns himself to a morning of endless Quidditch talk. Normally he would love it, but now…

Well, at least he has the match to look forward to later.

* * *

The wind stings Oliver's cheeks as he sits in the stands with the rest of the team, all clad in scarlet and gold. It is windy, unusually cold for May, and storm clouds look like they're gathering overhead. Still, almost the entire school has gathered to watch the match, bundled into thick layers of hats and scarves. It's going to be a tight game, both Hufflepuff and Slytherin almost evenly matched. Oliver can't quite tell if he's shivering from the cold or anticipation, but the ball of dread he woke up with still sits firmly in his stomach.

It seems like forever before the Hufflepuff players soar out onto the pitch, dots of yellow and black swooping and twisting against the grey sky. Oliver's friends scream and shout around him, calling out words of encouragement to the players, but he can't quite bring himself to cheer. Then the Slytherins fly out, to far less applause than the team before them. Even so, they look confident and their formation is tight, their manoeuvres sharp and well-practiced.

Lee announces the start of the game, his voice booming over the raucous noise from the crowd. Madame Hooch set the balls free, and they're off, streaks of green and silver shooting around the pitch too fast for the untrained eye to keep track of. But Oliver's not untrained, he's been studying Quidditch all his life, and he can already tell within the first few seconds that the game is unbalanced. The Slytherins are fighting harder, flying faster and more confidently, shoving into the Hufflepuffs with more force.

Half an hour in, the score reflects what Oliver already knows and the Slytherins are up by thirty points. Diggory calls a timeout, gathers his team together for a talk and when they disperse, there is a fire in each person's eyes. The sense of uneasiness mounts, and Oliver's so focused on the game that he almost doesn't notice when the heavens open and torrential rain pours from the sky.

Almost immediately the game is messier, the Quaffle dropped more often than passed. Oliver can see both Seekers circling overhead, searching for the Snitch more desperately than ever. It happens so quickly that Oliver misses it, but there is a loud _thud_ and Tamsin Applebee is picking herself up from the sodden grass of the stadium floor. Marcus is circling above her, a mocking smile on his face and Oliver's heart skips a beat.

The Quaffle is clutched tight in his grip but he still holds it out mockingly, taunting the fallen Hufflepuff with the red ball. Oliver is torn between laughing and screaming at him for being so arrogant. Before he can, Preece comes swooping down behind Marcus, hands outstretched for the Quaffle. Oliver sees the exact moment that he slips, hands shifting on the wet neck of the broomstick, and flies right into Marcus.

He plummets through the air, crashes into the Hufflepuff stand, and drops head first onto the floor. Oliver's frozen, he can't think, can't breathe. He can only stare as Marcus lies in a crumpled ball on the floor, unmoving. It is only when Madame Pomfrey carries his still body off the pitch that he snaps into actions, gathering all his stuff from the bench and standing to go.

Katie places a hand on his arm as he's going, her tone questioning, "Where're you going, Wood? Now that Flint's injured the Puffs have a real chance of winning this. Don't you want to watch?"

"Um, I feel sick," Oliver lies, hurrying down the rickety wooden steps as fast as he can. Once he's out of the pitch, he starts sprinting up to the castle, already imagining the worst. What if it's bad, what if Marcus is seriously injured? What if he doesn't make it?

He can't stop the thoughts spinning through his mind as he runs up to the Hospital Wing, his racing heartbeat deafening in the deserted hallways of the school. Finally, Oliver makes it, pushing open the heavy door to the sound of Madame Pomfrey's complaints. Ignoring her, he crouches down beside Marcus' bed, where he lays still and silent.

"Is he-" Oliver starts to ask, but his voice cracks and it takes a minute before he has composed himself enough to speak again. "Will he be alright?"

"Of course, dear," Madame Pomfrey replies, her voice comforting. She has a soft spot for Oliver, even with all the time he's spent under her care for various Quidditch injuries. "I've fixed up all his bruises and bumps, and he's just got a little concussion."

Oliver lets out a sigh of relief he didn't realise he'd been holding, feeling silly for being so anxious. As if sensing his embarrassment, the nurse disappears into her office, leaving the two boys alone. He sits, Marcus' hands clasped in his, the cheering of the crowd faint and far away. It is only as Marcus' eyelids start to flicker and he stirs in his bed that Oliver realises why he was so concerned.

"Hey," Marcus says, a soft smile touching his lips when he sees Oliver. "Why're you here? Is the match over already?"

Oliver shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"But you've been looking forward to the Slytherin-Hufflepuff game forever." His brow furrows in confusion and he looks so sleepy and puzzled that something in Oliver's heart flutters. "You love the Quidditch Cup."

"I do," Oliver says, inching closer to Marcus. "But I love you more."


End file.
